


I Wanna Know What Love is

by orphan_account



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Porn, F/M, House Party, Smut, Teen Angst, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-27
Updated: 2019-08-27
Packaged: 2020-09-28 04:37:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20420039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Steve is hella angsty in this one and he doesn't get any better.





	I Wanna Know What Love is

Winning at beer pong means you get bragging rights. Losing at beer pong means you get to drink more beer. So who’s really winning at beer pong, then? You at this current moment, and you’re  _ really _ starting to feel the buzz in your veins. It’s the last party before college and you don’t want to remember a single thing. Not even Carol doing shots off her crackhead boyfriend.

You down the last shot with a grimace, throwing the red solo cup somewhere behind you as you shove your way out to the patio. It’s somewhere between eleven and one, you think, because it’s late enough that the suburban streets are void of its inhabitants but not so late that inevitable noise complaints are being phoned to the police just yet. 

There’s a throng of jocks hogging the pool and a clique of girls you don’t talk to hogging the sitting area, so you head off in the direction of the hot tub where Steve Harrington sits all by his lonesome. Weird. Well, maybe not so weird because everyone’s noticed he’s been a bit ‘off’ ever since Nancy dumped his ass. 

You’ve seen him working at that ice cream parlor in the new mall, flirting with any hot chick who comes by. Not that you ever considered popularity important, especially now that you’re out of high school, but you are curious as to what the hell happened to ‘King Steve’. 

“Hate to break it to you, Harrington, but you look like a loser over here all alone,” you greet, stopping just short of the tub and raising a brow at Steve’s minimal reaction. 

He doesn’t even look at you as he responds, “Don’t you have someone else to go annoy?” Just his head leaned upon his fist and looking as depressed as can be with bubbles flowing all around him. The patio lights illuminate only half of his face, leaving the other half shadowed in metaphorical sadness. 

“Right, okay,” you say, shedding your clothes to the bathing suit underneath and climbing over the side, “what’s up with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington?” The warm water raises goosebumps on your arms as you situate yourself across from the man in question. 

“We’re not friends—we’ve never been friends. Why do you care?” You don’t miss the way he eyeballs your body, even if he is trying his hardest to stay moody. Teenage boys are still teenage boys despite having their moments, apparently. 

“Well, originally I just wanted to use the hot tub until I saw your sorry ass sitting here, so I decided to, oh, you know, be a genuine person. 

Steve looks a bit dumbfounded but doesn’t say anything.

“Has anybody ever given an actual shit about you, Steve? Asked if you were okay? Was mildly concerned about your well-being? I know your parents haven’t. Nancy broke your heart, but you were also kind of a douche back then. Do you have any other friends who aren’t children?”

He’s staring straight at you now, tense and pissed off—you’ve definitely succeeded. “First of all, fuck you. Second of all, are you stalking me because I don’t recall even Tommy knowing that much about my life.”

Eyeing one of the jocks dunking the other under the water, you reply, “With complete offense, Tommy’s a dumbass. With the number of parties you threw, it’s not really difficult to figure out how much your parents cared. And Nancy? I don’t know if it ever occurred to you, but your whole relationship was kinda public. And I’ve definitely noticed her little brother leading his group of friends to that ‘Scoops’ place you work at every single day.” 

“They’re not my friends, I just let them use the back hallways to sneak into the movies without paying.” He’s pointing his finger at you like an angry, old lady, punctuating each word with a shake. 

You sigh, looking him in the eye, “My only concern is why you’re even here at this lame party.”

“Your guess is as good as mine.”

Silence wraps you in the most uncomfortable blanket you could imagine as the party blatantly ignores two nobodies sitting in a tub that’s not very ‘hot’. Staring up at the stars, you bide the awkward time by trying to pinpoint the Big Dipper, but you don’t know shit about astrology and all you can see are clusters of lights making ambiguous shapes. If you weren’t a complete dork, you probably wouldn’t be thinking that the night sky is one gigantic metaphor for your current lot in life. 

“That’s what I’m wondering about myself, too,” you finally say, leaning back against the edge, “I feel like I’m having an identity crisis at eighteen-years-old. People say ‘you know yourself best’, but it seems like everyone else has me down to a point and here I am still questioning if this is major I want to go with for college. I’ve changed it, like, six times.”

“Lots of people do,” Steve tries to reassure, having leaned back himself.

“I get asked what my interests are and all I can say is reading. Am I shy? I was, but not anymore. Do I like to party? Yeah, but I’m still a total introvert. I once took three different personality tests in Psychology and I got three different results.” So, you don’t really know where all of this admittance is coming from, but it feels kind of nice to let it all out to someone—even to someone like Steve.

You can see his head lift up in your peripheral with his face all scrunched like your words have made him incredulous. “I think you just have a problem with the fact that you can’t label yourself. I’m Steve Harrington, King of Hawkins High and most popular guy in school. Or was. Now I’m just a loser. But, even though I fell from the top of the social ladder and onto the cold, hard ground, I still have a label. 

Huh. “That might just be the smartest thing you’ve ever said, Harrington.”

“Great, thanks. Glad I could help. Now, could you please leave me in peace?”

And back to square one, you go. “What? So you can sulk again because your life is  _ so _ hard?” He gives you  _ that  _ look and you sigh heavily. “Look, I’m not saying your problems are invalid, but I am saying that you don’t have to act like shit isn’t gonna get better. Don’t be a Debbie Downer and come have some good ol’ fashion fun with me. Junior year Steve style.”

“Like cigarettes, weed, alcohol, and sex?”

You smirk, replying, “What more could a teenager want?”

~ ~ ~

Steve is back, high as all hell, and halfway to drunk, and you’re pretty sure this is the loosest you’ve seen him all summer. Not that you advocate for getting utterly shitfaced to solve your problems, but you will admit that it does take the edge off. Okay, so maybe you’re sending him down a bad path, but he knows his limits, right? 

He’s currently dancing his heart out in the middle of the living room floor, disheveled hair bouncing every which way as his head bangs to each beat. You’re not as into smoking marijuana as he is, but you joined the circle for his sake and then left him for some time to raid the kitchen. Now that you’re back, you can see he probably hasn’t even noticed you left to begin with. Walking over to him, however, to interrupt his moment, you didn’t exactly foresee his pulling you into a sloppy kiss as part of your plan. 

Reluctantly, you pull away with a hand to his chest. “Steve, you’re totally hot and stuff and I’ve definitely fantasized having sex with you, but I don’t want you making any rash decisions while you’re incoherent.”

He pulls the sunglasses off of his face (that you can’t remember him having before and, also, it’s night. What the fuck, Harrington?) and responds, “I’ve gotten high enough to remember the shit I do in the morning. What are  _ you  _ stalling for?”

All you can do is shrug before grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him back to your lips. The party is still going strong with groups of people littered everywhere. Each door you open, there’s already a couple making out in it. Even the hall closet because a group of Freshmen are playing that stupid, mystery kissing game

Eventually, the two of you make it to the upstairs bathroom during its brief moment of vacancy, Steve fumbling with the doorknob as his other hand is tangled in your hair. As soon as the door slams shut, he lifts you to the counter and your legs wrap around his waist to keep him close. Not that he could go far with how small the bathroom is, anyway. 

His trunks are cold on your thighs, still damp from the water of the hot tub, but you bother yourself with tugging his grey tee off so there’s less layers between the two of you faster. Only in your bottoms, because you hadn’t cared to put your shorts back on and now those are still laying out on the patio, Steve’s hands creep dangerously close to a certain place you  _ really  _ want him to touch. They’re cold, too, but also soft as they grasp the scarred skin with each roll of your lips together. 

Amidst the clamour of conversation outside, a muffled  _ I Wanna Know What Love is  _ by  _ Foreigner _ begins playing. Steve pulls away momentarily to rip his shirt off, and you watch as he flings it towards the tub where it lands hanging off the faucet, but your eyes shut involuntarily as soon as his mouth touches your neck. You can feel it in your core as you grasp his thick head of hair in one hand and wrap the other around his bicep. You wish you could see the night sky and how fucked up the stars must look with how much your head is swirling right now. 

“Steve,” you muster, “stop giving me a hickey and fuck me already.”

“And girls called  _ me  _ impatient,” he says exasperatedly as he pulls away to pull down his trunks. Meanwhile, you’re maneuvering as best you can with the limited space to slide off your bottoms and fling them like his shirt before. 

Harrington doesn’t waste another second of your time as he slides in all hot and heavy. Although, the second you both take to adjust to the feel of each other is much needed. He holds one hand on the wall beside the medicine cabinet for leverage, the other gripping your bare hip bruisingly. 

Sex with Steve Harrington was kind of a revered thing by all the girls at school and you’re kind of glad you’re getting a taste of it now. But it’s strictly sex and there’s definitely no feelings or strings of any kind attached. 

Rocking your hips to match his pace, your nails rake down his back with how much you’re anchoring each other. Physically and emotionally, but that part doesn’t need to be acknowledged, does it? Although, focusing on the feel of him, the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way his warm breaths fan against your neck, you can’t help but think how peculiar it is that your situations are so perfectly aligned. But Steve didn’t want you in the first place and he’s high, so where the fuck are these stupid thoughts coming from? 

You’re just about there, feeling Steve picking up the pace as you fail to keep the moans in, when the door, which you both conveniently forgot to fucking lock, swings open an inch before you slam it shut. Heart beating from a different kind of adrenaline, you laugh as Steve shouts, “Ocupado, buddy! Could you not hear all the screaming that just happened?”

“I don’t know about you, but I lost it,” you say bemused, tilting your head back to rest against the mirror and bringing a hand to your sweaty forehead. 

He pulls out and quickly slips his trunks back on, reaching over to the tub’s faucet and throwing your bottoms at you. “Maybe it’s for the best. Was kinda forgetting you weren’t Nancy for a sec.” His tone is an amalgam of sadness, anger, and frustration all compiled into one thing: heartache. 

Hopping off the counter and jumping until you get the damp undergarment rightly situated, you reply, “That’s okay, I was kinda forgetting this was just supposed to be sex and nothing else.” Hand to the doorknob, you hesitate before adding, “I know I came off a bit confusing earlier, but let me know when you’re ready to start something more.” With that, you leave an emotional Steve slumped against the bathroom stall and feeling so much colder than before. 


End file.
